Twist of Fate
by alexa35
Summary: Was it really fate that the flock ended up in Hogwarts? Had it been pure coincidence that Scorpius Malfoy had met the flock in that fated hospital on that day? But… what was Scorpius Malfoy, a pure blood, doing in a Muggle hospital in the first place?
1. Prologue: Again

**Twist of Fate**

_Was it really fate that the flock ended up in Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or the magical world at all? Had it been pure coincidence that Scorpius Malfoy had met the flock in that fated hospital on that day? But… what was Scorpius Malfoy, a pure blood, doing in a Muggle hospital in the first place?_

_And what does Dumbledore have to do with this, when he is already dead? How is it that the flock is able to see Hogwarts when no other Muggle can? So many questions.. yet so little time to answer. Max has learned the many meanings to the word "absurd". But now? Absurd doesn't even cover it all._

_Time is running out, and you, reader, are just about to jump into the most absurd tale of all._

* * *

I decided to take a break from RAC for awhile, as I honestly don't really have the feel for it anymore right now. I kind of felt like writing this after I read Invictus, which is this amazingly awesome Harry Potter fanfic by opalish. Check it out if you haven't already; it's under my favourites. I'm really sad that it has been abandoned, though. It really has loads of potential. Okay anyway, yeah. I hope you enjoy this, 'cause I haven't really seen a Harry Potter/Maximum Ride fanfiction that is something like what I have in mind right now.

Yup… Okay, so this shall be a little pet project of mine to satiate my craving for some adventure-y kind of story. Pardon the weird title. Reviews are really loved. :D

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Maximum Ride, Harry Potter, or any characters associated with the story. I would also like to credit Harry Potter Puppet Pals -Wizard Swears for one of the terms used below.

**Claimer:** The poem below is written by me. And I own that.. pencil over there..

**Prologue: Again

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**

_What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?_

_-Logan Pearsall Smith

* * *

_

"History shall repeat itself  
Prejudices have not been lost  
The heroes must band together  
And have to fight at all cost

Last time we have lost treasured ones;  
People that brought the world good  
And now for the same cause we must fight  
Like all heroes should and would

They left us a lasting legacy  
One that we must not forget  
They risked their lives again and again  
Each time with enemies they met

A Dark Lord will once rise again  
Nothing at all has Harry Potter done  
But to make the lord stronger, younger, smarter  
The new era has just begun

Life is all about choices  
Yet now, diversity is not okay  
History will certainly repeat itself  
And the price this generation must pay."

Aberforth Dumbledore's bright blue eyes stared at the old, wrinkled form of Sybil Trelawney, bolted upright on the bed in a trance-like state. She relaxed and suddenly fell limply back onto the bed before shaking her head vigorously. She looked at her fellow companion, a confused expression plastered on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Aberforth beat her to it.

"Turned from making prophecies to becoming a poet, eh?" Aberforth said lightly.

"What are you talking about?" Trelawney sniffed. "Is that sherry I see?" she demanded and grabbed the bottle from him and poured into an empty glass.

She patted the spot next to her, gesturing for Aberforth to sit there. He politely obliged, the recent event fresh in his mind.

They were in a room in the Hog's Head, and until she recited that poem, they had been talking and reminiscing about their golden years. Sybil had, for some weird reason or so, taken a liking to the pub recently. Aberforth had decided that it had to be the old age getting to her.

"You were harping on about something regarding history repeating itself," he remarked, and downed a mouthful of sherry. Sybil followed suit, finishing the glass in a go.

"Was I?" she asked, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. "Weren't we just talking about something about Albus when the boy believed that the tooth fairy was real?"

Aberforth sat back, thinking deeply. It had been years since she had made another prophecy. In fact, the last one she had made was regarding Harry Potter and Voldemort. There had only been two. But now?

"What are you thinking about, so distant?" she asked, and fixed her beady eyes on him. "Thinking isn't good for old brains, Abe. They may just rot, you know," she sniffed dismally.

He didn't respond, as he looked back on her words. Thank Merlin his memory hadn't been deteriorating; in fact, it was as good as ever.

"History shall repeat itself, prejudices have not been lost," he muttered to himself quietly.

"What was that again?" Sybil asked, putting a hand behind her ear and downing another full glass of sherry. Aberforth ignored her.

"The heroes must band together, and fight at all cost," he said to himself.

He was positively sure it was another prophecy. Twenty-one years, it had been, since she made the last one. And he knew that when Sybil made a prophecy like that, there was a very, very, very high chance that it was bound to be true.

But still, what was it supposed to mean? Something was itching in his mind – what was it that made him feel so uncomfortable?

"Aberforth, are you going to continue ignoring me like this?" Sybil asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. He shook his head distractedly.

"Good. Well, I'm going down to get more sherry – it seems to finish really fast," she told him. Aberforth nodded – he did not bother to mention that she could save herself the trouble by summoning it here; she needed the exercise anyway.

Then, just as the door creaked shut, he realized what it was.

He finally recognised the thing that caused him to worry so much, and now that he knew it, he worried even more. Creases formed on his face as he furrowed his eyebrows, tapping a finger against his lap.

"History will certainly repeat itself…A Dark Lord will once rise again…" his voice trailed off. No… No. Sybil was playing a joke on him, that was all.

Who the hell was he kidding?

"Voldemort's nipple," he cursed, and hurried to his feet, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the pouch on the bedside table on the way and rushed as fast as he could to the fireplace immediately.


	2. Chapter 1: Vernington

Thanks to Bone White Butterfly for the review and story alert, and to CluainnFhada for the review. To anybody else, thanks for reading! :D

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Maximum Ride, Harry Potter or any other characters associated with the stories.

**Chapter 1: Vernington**

* * *

_History has demonstrated that the most notable winners usually encountered heartbreaking obstacles before they triumphed. They won because they refused to become discouraged by their defeats._

_-Bertie Charles Forbes_

* * *

I, Maximum Ride, have been through all sorts of predicaments; albeit big or small. I have fought off tons of Erasers; not easy to fight, mind you. I had had to go through the loss of Angel, my little baby, which had left me in a mental wreck at that time. I had to listen to a flying dog by the name of Total bark and harp about the weather or the state of his wings. I could most certainly go on with the list, but I do not think that you plan on staying here for another ten years or so.

So, back to my point: My flock and I have been in the worst situations that _you_ could possibly imagine.

Watch us try staying in the waiting room of a private hospital for two hours.

Two. Freaking. Hours. That was enough to kill us.

Obviously we were _very _reluctant to do that, after the whole incident with Anne and all. In fact, it had practically left us…okay, _me_, paranoid. Every corner I turn, I swear I was holding my breath waiting for an FBI agent to appear and bring us back to Anne. Not before I gave him a little taste of my ass-kicking skills, of course.

But that's just me and a piece of my overactive imagination run wild. Or you could just shorten it and call it paranoia. Whatever. Your pick.

So I'm sure you may be wondering, what the _h_ am I doing in a hospital anyway? I think I have failed to mention that it was also a private hospital. In fact, the only reason we could afford it was because of the unlimited credit card that I fortunately have not lost with all the action the flock has been involved in. It did come in handy at times. But anyway.

The flock had agreed sullenly to stay in the hospital. Matter of fact was that they had tried putting up a false cheery front for Iggy, which I am very sad to say was not working. Another horrid reminder of the School was always round the corner. But no one complained. It was all for Iggy - he was really excited about getting his vision back.

We had ended up here after hearing of a certain doctor who was, apparently, able to make miracles. Well, we do hope that he could make a miracle: Give Iggy his eyesight back. Big job, no? After seeing pictures of him everywhere after he had invented a cure for some rather nasty sickness that had been infesting the human population, we immediately flew to London in hope of him doing _something_, anything, for Iggy.

Therefore the pacing around restlessly. I walked up and down the waiting room, after leaving Iggy to have a private consultation with Dr. Trabone, or Phineas, as he had requested us to call him. Fang was staring into the air, a faraway expression on his face. Gazzy was making faces at Nudge, who was not paying attention and chattering to no one in particular. Angel was, as I recall, "practicing the noble art of conversation" with Total.

Go figure.

Then, the door creaked open and Iggy walked in, a dazed expression plastered on his face. Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and turned towards him, anxious. He slowly turned towards us and broke out into a full grin. I let out my breath, which I had not been aware was bated, and smiled happily. Angel and Nudge ran up to hug him and Gazzy whooped.

"He said he could try doing something," he said, his voice full of apparent joy.

"We're all happy for you," I smiled, saying that on behalf of the whole flock.

"Cool." Fang smiled one of his rare smiles, and I could see that he was genuinely happy for Iggy.

"Yeah! Now you can like, finally see what we're all like!" For once, Nudge was not as noisy as she was, being so happy. Angel smiled sweetly and Gazzy was going on about how much easier it would be to make bombs now.

"Uh.. but there's a sorta catch.." Iggy faltered, and everyone instantly shut up.

"What?" I questioned, my voice sharp.

"We have to stay here for another week, at the very least."

I suppressed the urge to punch the lights out of something, because if that meant Iggy getting his eyesight back, then heck, who cares?

* * *

_When one is on a tight rope, the most dangerous course is to stop._

_-Henry Kissinger_

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy skulked around the hospital, walking from one end of a level to another, thoughts running amok in his mind. He paced up and down restlessly, occasionally running his hand through his blonde hair, leaving it a ruffled mess. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not notice - and if he had, he would not have cared - the looks that people were shooting him. Of course, wouldn't it be interesting to a Muggle if someone, clad in dark robes on such a hot day in a hospital, was walking around restlessly?

He was worried. Very, very worried.

This morning had been rather… queer. Yes, queer indeed.

He had thought his father would be sent to St. Mungo's, but nooo. When his mother and he arrived there, they said that Draco Malfoy had not been registered there. His mother had immediately contacted the Ministry, demanding a location, and when she had gotten it, her mouth had practically dropped in shock. Somehow or another, he had been sent to this Vernington Private Hospital, _a Muggle hospital_.

What was _his father_, Draco Malfoy,_ pure-blood_, doing in a _Muggle_ hospital? To make it more bewildering, his mother had discovered that he had _requested_ it himself to be sent to Vernington to be treated.

Of course, Scorpius didn't mind a bit. He honestly did not care about blood status. For, whatever blood status anyone was - pure-blood, half-blood, Muggle-born - they were all still human. But, his father. It was utterly out of character for someone like Draco Malfoy to _request_ to be sent to a Muggle hospital! Really!

Scorpius knew that his father was trying his best to become a better man; he had heard stories of his father's past. Rumours, facts, the lot. But he knew something that not many did: his father was trying. He was trying to overcome prejudices and become something that his father, the Death-Eater Lucius Malfoy, was not.

But despite that, Scorpius knew it was totally absurd for his father to _want_ to be sent to a Muggle hospital. No matter what, he didn't trust the Muggle medicinal system, which was far behind that of the wizarding world!

Had his father gone stark raving mad?

Scorpius shook his head. No, he had not. His injuries - he was still unaware of what they were - must have not been that bad to require the wizarding world to tend to him. Maybe his father had wanted to try out and see what the Muggle system was like.. Yeah..

His train of thoughts was broken when he accidentally ran into a wall. Scorpius scowled and rubbed his head, which was starting to bruise. He started, fairly sure he had heard something. The clicking sound a door made when it swings shut. Low voices. Very low voices.

Scorpius looked around curiously, and noted that the sound was coming from the other side of a door located a few feet away. He wasn't the type to eavesdrop, but since he had nothing to do anyway, he decided to. What had leaked through the door so far had greatly peaked his interest and as he listened on silently to the conversation, his eyes began to turn as wide as dinner plates.

"Merlin's pink bikinis," he breathed.

* * *

_For every man who lives without freedom, the rest of us must face the guilt._

_-Lillian Hellman_

_

* * *

_

"Max, I think we shouldn't stay here for too long," Fang told me, his brows creased. He had pulled me aside to speak to me privately, leaving Angel, Nudge, Gazzy, Iggy and Total to laugh and chatter together. Just as Fang had asked me to go off, Iggy, in his merry state, had sent us a suggestive wink, which had earned him a whack on the head from Fang which he deserved.

"Well, this place _has_ been getting on my nerves," I admitted reluctantly, fidgeting. I felt ill at ease talking to Fang behind a closed door. Who knew who could be at the other side, listening to our every word?

Just as if he had read my mind, Fang placed his hands on the silver, round doorknob and roughly pushed the door open, to let us face an empty hallway leading to another door on the far end. I sighed inaudibly and Fang let the door silently swing shut.

"I keep feeling as if someone is watching me," I admitted to him, something that I would not have said to anyone else. Fang's eyebrows arched noticeably.

"Me too," he said quietly, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame of the door.

"Maybe there's nothing wrong here… It's just us being paranoid," I suggested and wrung my hands. He shrugged. "I mean, what could possibly go wrong here?" I tried in a futile attempt to convince myself.

"What could, I just wonder," Fang said dryly.

"Yeah, nothing. Flyboys? Erasers? M-Geeks? Naaah," I joked. "Another Anne? Never. More Jeb and the School? Of course not." My voice turned bitter with every following word, and I scowled.

"Yeah, nothing bad could possibly happen to six flying bird kids and a dog with wings," Fang said wryly, causing a smile to tug on the sides of my lips before I lapsed into deep thought. Strategizing and making decisions was something not to be taken lightly.

"We'll stay as long as it is necessary," I decided after a while. "We'll still have night watches though, and have to warn the flock to keep an eye out for trouble. Can't hurt to stay too paranoid."

"Actually," Fang pointed out, "it can."

"Whatever."

Fang chuckled, a noise that sent butterflies in my stomach flitting from one end to another haphazardly.

Uh.. You know what, forget I said that.

"What do you think?" Fang asked quietly, looking at me intensely.

"About?"

"Iggy getting his eyesight back."

"It's great. I mean, now he wouldn't feel so much of a liability," I uttered, "and feel like a true member of the flock."

Fang merely nodded. Then, he suddenly broke into a full-blown grin that took me by surprise.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well one good thing is that this'll save me the trouble of describing all those beach bunnies to him," he laughed.

"Pig," I remarked.

"What gave it away?" he replied, amused.

"Really," I sighed. "All this world-saving to do, and all you sexist pigs are doing is gorging your eyes out at girls clad in clothes so skimpy they might as well not wear any clothes at all."

"Who said we were looking at girls?" Fang looked at me seriously that, for one moment, I actually thought it was true. "And do I detect a hint of jealousy in there?"

"Fang!" I protested, and punched him in the shoulder playfully.

He smiled, and we joined the flock again, appreciating one of the few and rare moments we had to actually enjoy ourselves and be together. Just like a real family.

But then, nothing always works right for us. Must be just the way life works, eh?

A loud "crack" made us turn our heads immediately to the direction of the sound, and Angel screamed the most bone-chilling shriek that I have ever heard.


	3. Chapter 2: Two Worlds Collide

Thanks for reading, and/or reviewing! I really appreciate it. There you go - ten full pages in Times New Roman font, size 12. A first for me. Not that you'd be interested, anyway. Reviews would certainly be loved. :D

I do apologise if you found this confusing. Also, please note that the Death Eaters mentioned later on were not killed in the Battle of Hogwarts - they were either defeated, or incarcerated, as J. K. Rowling has not specified. In this story, they had been sent to Azkaban instead. I also want to clear this up - in this story, Maximum Ride, meets the next generation of Harry Potter, which is probably in the late 2010s (old generation in the 1990s). However, as I am not very sure which year Max Ride is supposed to be in, in this story, the flock will be in the 2010s, alright? I hope that that will be fine with you guys, and that it doesn't cause that much of a trouble.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Maximum Ride, Harry Potter, or any characters associated with the stories. I would also like to credit Harry Potter wiki - I did my research, kay. :D (A lot, might I add.) And to Fuzzylogic11 (or her dad) for the "assume" saying.

**Chapter 2: Two Worlds Collide  
**

**

* * *

**

_I've been rich and I've been poor. It's better to be rich._

_-Gertrude Stein_

_

* * *

_

The moment Scorpius heard one of the two conversing people say "six flying bird kids and a dog with wings", he immediately bolted upright his head almost hit something.

They had to be kidding him, weren't they? _Bird_ kids? A dog with _wings_? Surely not! Pure and utter crap, it had to be. Seriously.. What were the chances of that being possible?

Then again, he _was _a wizard after all. The very fact he could light a wand was a miracle itself and yet, Muggles did not really believe in magic either. The concept of normal human beings and dogs with _wings_ was as alien to him as the concept of people being able to do magic, moreover a _Ministry_ of Magic, to a Muggle.

Nevertheless, it was really simply too absurd to believe! Really! They _had _to be pulling his legs.. This had to be just some sick prank those strangers were playing on him. Just your typical random strangers pulling a random prank on a random person that they have never met. Yeah.. Makes so much sense, doesn't it? Scorpius winced as another contradiction appeared in his head - how would they have known that he was there in the first place?

And what in the world were flyboys, erasers and emm-geeks, whatever those were called? Really, erasers? Those thing Muggles use to rub stuff off their paper? Were they really _that_ harmful?

Scorpius groaned; all this deducing was making his brain tire. This day was getting weirder by the moment - first the mystery of his father's decision, and now this bird kid thing? Seriously.

Well, eavesdroppers would never gain anything good out of eavesdropping anyway. He should have listened to his mother's incessant nagging and saved himself the trouble of puzzling over the mystery of these "bird kids". How stupid and childish of him to do so.

Scorpius groaned again and pressed his hands to his throbbing temple. That was it - he was going to forget he ever heard of these ridiculous things and return back to his mother - she would have obtained the ward number for his father by now, anyway. The Muggle system was absurdly slow.

Scorpius turned around and headed towards the lift, walking slowly and purposefully. Just as he was about to enter, a blood-curdling shriek of horror stopped him dead in his tracks. His face instantly paled - the voice belonged to a little girl. A _little girl_. And he was positively sure it came from the room he had been so close to just now.

The door of the lift closed in front of his face as the lift moved on to another level to accommodate other people. It sort of made his mind up for him - he immediately turned around and ran as fast as his legs could carry him back towards the room.

A little girl. That scream.. It could haunt nightmares. It wasn't the sort of playful screams little kids shout when playing with each other. This noise - it was as if someone had set the Cruciatus cur.. Dumbledore's boxers! No! The Unforgivable Cruciatus curse, on a young, little girl?

At least - Scorpius slowed his pace - that was what he _assumed _it was..

And as his mother had said: When you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

What if he ran back in, only to make a fool out of himself? Why had that little girl screamed? Scorpius shook his head and mentally reprimanded himself for pausing and wasting time; whatever it was, he intended to find out.

The short distance seemed to take so long to cover. He finally reached the door and slammed it open, causing everyone in the room to turn their heads in his direction. Scorpius managed a sharp intake of breath; his eyes certainly met a rather unpleasant, not to mention unexpected sight indeed, and everything paused as if time itself had purposefully gone slow-mo especially for Scorpius to digest the situation before his very eyes. It was as if in that few seconds, his senses had heightened considerably.

There were a total of seventeen people in the room.

Seventeen people; one receptionist, nine other people cowering in a corner, and seven very well involved people. And a jet-black Scottish-looking dog with wings hiding under a chair. Wha - with _wings_? So maybe that _had_ been true after all!

A girl with dirty-blonde hair was holding a robed man by the wall in a death grip with her right hand around his neck. Scorpius was astonished to see that in her left hand, she held a sleek black wand which appeared on the dangerous brink of being broken anytime soon. Her eyes, full of cold determination, met his, and Scorpius felt that he certainly wouldn't like to be on the bad side of that girl.

Besides the two people who had his main attention, around her were several children ranging from the ages of probably fifteen to eight. They had all obviously been in the midst of doing different things - two of the boys were huddled in a corner over a pile of odd objects, a little girl, who seemed to be the youngest of the lot, was clutching her head in agony and had seemingly ignored his entrance. An older, black girl was by her side, probably attempting to comfort her. And a dark-skinned guy with dark hair was staring at him with a curious expression in his eyes.

The girl - why was she clutching her head? But a bigger problem was the one where the oldest girl of the lot was seemingly choking an aged wizard to death. Scorpius absorbed the image of the old wizard; squat, lumpy, with white hair growing in clumps on his head and a nasty lopsided leer playing with his face despite the position he was in.

Scorpius was shell-shocked when he realised he recognised the man. So familiar.. Where had he seen him before?

Then, time decided to move on again, leaving Scorpius with no time to ponder. Everyone started moving, and noises started seeping back in. That one moment of pause had probably been an adrenaline rush that had allowed him to asses the whole situation in less than a minute, maybe.

The wizard had made use of the distraction Scorpius had provided and managed to escape the clutches of the girl with the dirty-blonde hair. She hissed menacingly at him, moving several steps backward.

"_Accio wand,_" the wizard summoned, and with eyes wide with shock, the girl watched as the wand flew back to it's rightful owner.

The wizard wheezily giggled, and the dark-haired guy winced. Around the room, the two girls were still huddled in the corner, and the two guys had a triumphant look on their faces. The other passersby were staring at the middle three figures, frightened as rabbits in a crocodile tank. His attention then snapped back to the elderly wizard, who was brandishing his wand at Scorpius carelessly. Scorpius hand immediately wrapped around his wand, and he took it out immediately.

Scorpius was stunned, not not the spell, but the feeling, when the wizard laughed again at him. The wheezy sound was rather disturbing.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Scorp.. Scorpio Malfoy, eh? Whatever your name is. Grandson of Lucius Malfoy, I see. Well, well, well. How very nice of you to join us. And, I very well thank you for creating that distraction that let me be free of the grip of that nasty piece of work," the wizard gestured towards the girl. She narrowed her eyes at him, but after eying the wand suspiciously, she took several steps back.

Scorpius stood stock still, his mind rendered of thoughts.

That voice..

That was the voice of a man so familiar, whose name had somehow slipped his mind. A Death Eater.. condemned to Azkaban for the rest of his life after the final Battle of Hogwarts. The voice of the man his father had tried desperately to keep him from for the past twelve years. The voice of the sibling to Alecto Carrow, killed by Harry Potter in an attempt to assassinate him once and for all.

Amycus Carrow sneered at Scorpius.

* * *

_Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity._

_-George S. Patton_

_

* * *

_

I've met psychopaths, I know a talking dog with wings, I've fought against human-wolf hybrids, heck, I _am_ a kid with bird genes in me - and these things are weird enough as they are. Trust me, they are.

And now, things just got stranger.

When Angel screamed, everything else left my mind as I rushed towards her. Even I forgot about the weird cracking sound. She was in bloody agony, I could tell, and I tried talking to her and comforting her. She clutched her head with both hands, and started rocking herself backward and forwards. The rest of the flock were immediately surrounding her.

"Angel, are you alright?" I asked, starting to become aware of the people watching us with concern. "Angel?"

She looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes, and raised a shaky hand to point behind me. "Max," she whispered, fear in her voice.

I whipped my head around and saw a man.

He was old, He was dressed rather ridiculously, in fact. He was wearing robes - yes, _robes_ - and in his hand was this black stick he was brandishing like a sword or something.

"Hello," he sneered, and giggled. It sounded kind of wheezy, and made me wince inwardly. He was short and rather fat, and white hair sprouted from his head in random places. A whitecoat? Not really likely, but there was still a chance.

And, despite the fact that I was one without a sense of fashion, _what is with those robes_?

"Who are you?" I asked sharply, and slipped into a fighting stance. He giggled again, making me wince. I shot a sideways glance towards Fang and noted that he was headed towards the person from an angle where he would not be seen by the man.

"Max?" Nudge called me, worry etched in her voice.

"What?" I replied. I certainly was not going to turn my back on this man - who knows what he could do? I had learned not to underestimate people. "Who are you?" I called again.

"Your worst nightmare," he laughed, and pointed his stick thing at me. "_Petrificus totalus_!" he shouted, and a ball of light shot out of that thing towards me. I dodged it in the nick of time - it flew past my ear behind me.

What the heck?

Just then, Fang pounced on the old man. He gasped in surprise, and I immediately dashed forward, pushed the man against the wall, and wrapped my hand around his neck, remembering to grab his stick thing with my other hand.

"Who. Are. You," I said with clenched teeth. He gasped for air, but laughed. Fang stood by my side, watching with cold eyes.

"Answer her," he ordered, his voice low and calm. The oldie rolled his eyes.

"Max?" Nudge called again. Her voice was full of unmistakable worry, but I ignored her. There was some serious business to handle here.

"I am going to ask you this question one, last, time," I shot him a look. "Who. Are. You."

The man opened his mouth to answer, but just then, the door slammed open and I turned my head towards the direction. A young boy, probably thirteen or something, stood at the door, examining the room. He was also dressed in _robes_, and had blonde hair and a pale, pointed face. His eyes met mine, they were grey, before darting around the room in an unnaturally fast speed.

I shouldn't have made the mistake of turning towards him.

That one moment of distraction allowed the old man to kick me in the guts, causing me to let him go. I cursed - that man has got some leg power.

"_Accio wand_," he ordered, and the stick thing - a _wand_? - flew out of my hands into his. What?!

This was either some elaborate trick, or else we were actually facing off with some serious business here.

Magic?

There was no such thing as magic.

The boy took out another similar stick, and held it out in front of himself, eying the man warily.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Scorp.. Scorpio Malfoy, eh? Whatever your name is. Grandson of Lucius Malfoy, I see. Well, well, well. How very nice of you to join us. And, I very well thank you for creating that distraction that let me be free of the grip of that nasty piece of work," the man gestured towards me. I hissed, and narrowed my eyes. Would it be worth it if I attacked him? I had no idea what Gazzy and Iggy were doing - god knows, they were probably creating a bomb. I chanced a look behind, to see that Nudge was beside Angel, who seemed to be in the same state of agony as before.

I decided not to risk it and took several steps back - I didn't know the capabilities of this old man.

The boy's eyes widened considerably after the man spoke.

"Amycus Carrow," he breathed. The man's grin widened and he started giggling that disturbing giggle of his.

"Very right, boy," he said. "Still remember me after all those visits, eh? I'm honoured."

The boy made no response; he seemed to be calculating the best thing to do at the moment. The two people were so caught up with each other, I decided that this was the best moment to leave. I signaled at Gazzy and ordered him to U and A. He tapped Iggy and whispered into his ears.

Fang shot me a look, which I then remembered the reason we were in the hospital in the first place.

What about Iggy and his eyesight? We definitely wouldn't come back to this place again after we left. Crap.

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I watched them, engaged in their dangerous world with stick-things with probably dangerous light balls.

Eh.. That turned out kind of wrong.

"Now, now, hasn't your Daddy taught you not to meddle in other people's business?" the man asked. The boy's face darkened.

"Don't you pull my father into this," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What are you here for?

The man smiled maliciously. "That's for me to know and for you to find out, if you can."

The boy scowled. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Well, sadly for you, the feeling's mutual," the man said. "_Avada kedavra_!" he shouted, and a green ball emitted from his wand. The boy stood there, stock still in shock, and the with a loud crack, the man disappeared. He just.. disappeared, as if he had never been there at all.

"No!" Angel screamed, and rugby-tackled the boy to the ground, the green thing narrowly missing them by an inch.

They stayed on the ground for more than a minute, probably because of the shock. After that, we all rushed towards the pair. Angel, my baby, what had happened to her?

The boy shook his head and pulled himself up, before offering Angel a hand. She took it and stood up, just as I reached her.

"Thanks," the boy said to her. She nodded in response.

"Angel, are you alright?" I asked, worried, pulling her into my arms.

"Angel!" Nudge exclaimed, and hugged her.

"Why were you screaming just now?" her brother asked worriedly, as he squeezed her into a bear hug. Fang and Iggy hugged her, such that Angel was in the middle, followed by me, Nudge, Gazzy, Iggy and then Angel. A bird kid sandwich.

"Guys, I hope you don't plan on killing Angel just after ..that," I remarked, and everyone pulled away instantly.

"What am I, your next door neighbour?" Total trotted up, Celeste in his mouth. "I took really good care of Celeste."

"I'm alright now," she said. Now.. But what about before? "Thanks, Total."

"I'm - "

"Scorpius Malfoy," Angel interrupted. "Yes, Total _is_ a talking dog with wings, and you're not hallucinating."

The boy shot her a weird look, and cleared his throat.

"Uh.. Yeah, okay."

"What happened, anyway?" Iggy asked. "We were about to finish Big Boy II."

I stared at him, incredulous, before it actually sank in.

"Are you CRAZY?!" I exclaimed. "You couldn't have possibly been.. of course.. blowing up a hospital.. seriously.." I muttered. Iggy chuckled nervously.

"Chill, Max," Fang uttered. Then, Scorpion Mailboy or whatever his name is, cleared his throat, catching all our attention.

"I.. I think.." he hesitated. "I think you better come with me."

"And why should we?" I asked the younger boy.

"Because, Amycus was a Death Eater, who escaped from Azkaban a few years ago. He came here for a reason, and I believe it's you." He assessed all of us, eyes flicking from one person to another. "He made a mistake Disapparating like that, and no doubt he'll be back."

Death Eater? Azkaban? Disapparate?

Apparently, he saw the confusion on all our faces.

"I'll explain on the way, how's that?"

"How about all those people?" Nudge asked, gesturing towards the other passersby who were whispering to each other conspiratorially and shooting us furtive glances.

"The Obliviators will handle them," Scorpionboy said. "Now please, any longer and Carrow will be back."

I was tempted to ask him about those Obliviator things, but I looked at Angel, and she nodded, giving the all-clear that he didn't harbour any ill intent.

I shot everyone an uneasy glance, but we followed him anyway, his robes swishing as they swept the floor.

_

* * *

_

_The universe is made of stories, not of atoms._

_-Muriel Rukeyser _

* * *

The old, burly form of Antonin Dolohov paced back and forth around the room, and several eyes followed him as he did so. He appeared to be tensely waiting for something; news, a person, perhaps?

He shot the large grandfather clock another occasional glance, and scowled. It was already twenty minutes past eleven at night, and the thing he had been waiting for was long overdue.

"It seems that our dear friends have decided not to join us," he uttered, a trace of bitterness and contempt blatantly obvious in his voice.

"Perhaps he ran into several.. problems," suggested Rabastan Lestrange. Walden Macnair laughed, his voice raspy.

"I still don't get why you gathered us," Augustus Rookwood said in the patronizing bored tone of his that he always used, and leaned back against the old armchair he was seated in.

"Yes," Macnair agreed, "why gather a bunch of old, wrinkled Death Eater Azkaban escapees?" Several murmurs of agreement followed his question.

"Speaking of escaping, how did you manage, Macnair?" Lestrange asked. "I planned my with young Avery here." He gestured his head towards Avery and he gave a squeak of acknowledgement - despite his old age, he was still weak, and easily manipulated.

"Yes, and you caused security to be tighter for the next two months. Aurors came down to check on us every other day. Harder for me to escape, you know," Rookwood remarked. "After that though, it was very easy, in fact. Really, that Ministry never learns."

"Agreed," Macnair said. "They never even knew the Dementors were the ones who let us out until all of us escaped, I heard."

"Really, eh. 'Twas no wonder those Dementors didn't stop us." Avery giggled nervously.

"Stop acting like a girl," Lestrange shot. "Look at you, old hair, balding and all, and _still_ the old, weakling Avery." Avery made a noise and retreated back to his chair, making no other noise. Lestrange ignored him and addressed the rest of his fellow Death Eaters. "Rowle was lucky; he was the last before they finally got rid of the Dementors."

"And it appears as if he has decided to abandon us," Dolohov finally spoke. He stopped pacing and took a seat. "So much for being trustworthy. Drink, anyone?" Dolohov summoned several glasses and a bottle of wine, and the old men toasted to the fall of their Dark Lord. There was a moment of silence, as they reminisced about the old, dark days, working for their Lord.

"So you must be wondering what I gathered us here for," Dolohov started, but before he could continue, his fellow Death Eater interrupted him.

"But really, Antonin, _Spinner's End_? Not to mention in Severus' home?" Lestrange asked snidely, wrinkling his nose.

"What really happened to Severus, eh?" Macnair queried. "Heard he got killed."

"He was a traitor to the Dark Lord," Rookwood hissed, and Macnair was not the only one who stared at him in surprise.

Just then, someone knocked the door, and Dolohov started, before scurrying to the dark, wooden door and opening it with a loud creak.

The silhouette of Thorfinn Rowle loomed up against the dark night outside. Behind him was a smaller female form, who was looking around nervously. Dolohov broke into a wide smile, despite the fact that they were very, very tardy.

"Really, Thor, how late can you get?" Dolohov asked, and gestured the two figures outside to enter. The woman looked around, her nose in the air.

"Someone was tailing us," Rowle said calmly, as he walked in and took a seat next to Lestrange. An alarmed expression appeared on everyone's faces.

"I hope you haven't lost your touch, Rowle," Rookwood said. "I, for one, do not plan on returning to Azkaban. And what is _she_ doing here?" He gestured violently towards the woman, who scowled at him. She continued standing, unsure of whether she should sit or not.

"Take a seat, please do," Dolohov said politely. "I'm glad you could join us."

"Of course," she smiled, showing three gold teeth.

"How much longer are we going to have to stay here, Antonin?" Avery squeaked.

"Very much, I'm afraid," remarked Macnair. "Look at that expression on his face." Indeed, Dolohov's face seemed to have lightened up considerably.

"I long for the warmth of a bed," Lestrange sighed. "We aren't as young as we used to be, Antonin. If you have some great marvelous plans against Harry Potter in mind, count me out. I have had enough of him." He stood up, cracking a few back bones in the process.

"This has _nothing_ to do with that brat, though I would very well like to watch him suffer for all he has done to our Lord. We are here to discuss several matters, regarding the Dark Lord. But firstly, Ms. Skeeter, are you with us or are you not?" Dolohov questioned, staring intently at her eyes. She met his gaze, and a smile began to form on her face.

"Anything for a story," Rita Skeeter said, and adjusted her rhinestone glasses.

"Excellent," Dolohov said. "Now, Ms. Skeeter, if you could enlighten us about what you heard at the Hog's Head that night."

"With pleasure," she began, patting her stiff hair. "However, I must correct you, Dolohov. I had not been at the Hog's Head - I was lurking around, yes, lurking, I must admit, in the house of a certain Hermione Granger. Aberforth Dumbledore Flooed her, and merely discussed a few vague facts."

"But a few vague facts can make a difference," Macnair said, and the other Death Eaters leaned forward attentively as Rita Skeeter began to tell them a tale, beginning with rumours of a new prophecy by a seer by the name of Sybil Trelawney.


End file.
